I went to the dentist for my regular check-up on Thursday. Lo and behold, my gums are rotting away like zombie flesh, exposing the tasty bones of my skull to billions of Satan-worshipping microbes.

Also known as the beginnings of periodontal disease.

The good news: they caught it early enough to stop it. The not-so-good news: on Friday I was back in the chair for two hours of dental work, only half of which was covered by insurance. And no, it couldn’t wait until the new year. Sigh.

Now I’m on a super-strict dental regimen which I like to call War. I must:

1. floss three times daily (and really floss, not that cheating sort most people do)

2. brush three times daily (electric toothbrush, 2.5 minutes each time)

3. use this super-strong mouthwash three times daily (at least it tastes okay)

4. use medicated mouthwash twice daily, at least until the bottle runs out (it’s supposed to fix my gums, and it tastes like a chemical horse’s artificially-enhanced ass)

5. use fluoride teeth-wipes three times daily. It feels sort of like polishing shoes, except they’re my teeth and they’re not on my feet. At least not usually. These wipes are discontinued by the manufacturer, so I need to ask the dentist where to get more.
I’ve got to say, though–when I finish this regimen, I feel clean. Nothing could possibly survive in my mouth at this point. Nothing at all. If I were to spawn new life in my mouth which developed an advanced civilization, they’d damn well better develop space travel within 8 hours, because they are getting nuked out of existence ASAP.

If this works, it’ll all be worth it.

Now I get to thank my dad for my bad eyes and my bad teeth. At least he gave me great cheekbones. (P.S. My dad is awesome, aside from his poor taste in genetic transfer.)